All Dressed Up and No Place to Go
by iyimgrace
Summary: It's New Years Eve and Gibbs gets a surprise visitor. Neither one of them expected the turn it took at the stroke of midnight. Written for NotYetLostFaith for the Zibbs Secret Santa Exchange arranged by Zivacentric. Set in Season 9 after "Newborn King", AU.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hello everyone! Yeah it's been forever and a day since I've posted. I've been busy working on my own original characters' epic story. It is most certainly a labor of love and I am having a ball :D The goal is to self-publish the series by the end of 2013 or die trying!_

_In the meantime, my dear friend Zivacentric, of the amazing NCIS Zibbs fandom, convinced me I needed to do a secret santa story for this group of Zibbs writers she's been picking up like Mother Goose. I was in a total block and needed to get my Muse's fat ass wedged out, so I said sure, why the hell not. This is the result for NotYetLostFaith. She wanted humor, drama, angst, fluff, romance, hurt/comfort, a kiss at Midnight and a happy ending. Of course, I threw in some smut... what can I say... :D _

_Enjoy!_

_Set after Episode 9.11 "Newborn King", AU of course, cuz it's Zibbs..._

* * *

The scrape of sandpaper rasped along the sweep of honeyed oak. Gibbs ran his hand up the curve to brush off the powder fine sawdust. The old black radio's volume escalated from the counter against the wall. The one speaker that still worked shouted out a tin-like roar of the crowd as something exciting happened in the bowl game. He paused in his ministrations to take a sip of bourbon and listen.

"_And Onterio McCalebb takes it to the twenty-five, fifteen… ten. Touchdown Auburn_."

Gibbs nodded. He wasn't routing for either team. He wasn't a fan of Auburn or Virginia, the game just happened to be a nice background to fill the quiet space of New Year's Eve alone in the basement. Not that he cared. It was just another night for him. He took another sip and went back to sanding the saddle of the rocking horse he started for Emira's birthday this coming February.

He only got to move the 240-grit a few times before the telltale footsteps of a visitor echoed above. He shook his head. It was a woman. High heels on the wooden staircase. Definitely not Abby's thick soled boots. He didn't even have to guess. The scent of Syrian Jasmine and cinnamon preceded her.

Ziva.

He'd know that exotic blend anywhere. The high heels though… now those were a mystery.

He glanced up just as she rounded the wooden railing, her hand trailing along the edge of the worn-softened edge of the two by four.

Gibbs breath caught in his chest and he almost dropped the sanding block. That was unexpected––though a natural reaction to the incredible sight before him.

His normally casual, strong, kickass agent was dressed in a silky black dress that skimmed over her every curve like the promise of a lover's touch. Her long dark curls, though often pin-straight, were pulled back and up into a sleek twist that made her face open and alluring. Delicate stones dangled from her earlobes and swung with the subtle movement of her head. She smiled at him––that shy, uncertain smile touched with a sense of self-deprecation and irritation. Not the one she reserved for DiNozzo full of sass and a bit of condescension. No, this one was for when she was perturbed with herself. He wondered why.

Obviously, she was all dressed up for a reason. Yet, she was here in his basement. And that meant that whatever plans she had did not pan out.

"All dressed up and no place to go, Ziver?"

She rolled her sable colored eyes and let out a peeved huff. He was right––definitely pissed at herself.

"Yes. Something of that nature." She crossed to the workbench and swiped the clutter away to place the champagne bottle dangling from her fingertips. "I _did_ have some place to go. That is the problem."

Gibbs stood up from his work and cocked an eyebrow at her when she turned around.

She shrugged and let out a stiff sigh. "Ray."

"Ah." Gibbs tried to ignore the tightening of his gut at the mention of the CIA agent's name. There was something about that guy that didn't sit right with him. He was too smooth, too polished. Typical CIA. Gibbs couldn't put his finger on it yet, but it would come to him. It always did. Never mind the fact that he wasn't good enough for Ziva. No one really was.

"We were supposed to have a nice dinner and dancing. Spend this silly New Year's event together. But he was called away."

Gibbs nodded.

"I do not even know why I am disappointed." She picked up a roofing nail, studied it and then flicked it away in irritation. "New Year's Eve. It makes no sense to me. We do not celebrate the New Year like this. It is just another day in Israel. Rosh Hashanah is the true New Year."

She had a point there. At least that had some religious significance.

She looked at him expectantly. "Why do Americans make such a big deal out of it? All of the parties, the noise creators, the little triangle hats and sprinkles…"

"Glitter."

"Whatever." She huffed and rounded the corner of his worktable to stand beside him. The scent of her perfume enveloped him. Her body heat seeped into his arm, only half covered by the cutoff sleeve of his old gray Marine sweatshirt and fine layer of sawdust. "What is the point?"

Gibbs slid his eyes to the corner to steal a glance. The sweep of her neck dipped into the hollow of her throat. Her delicate collarbones peeked out from the elegant neckline of her dress, the black fabric contrasting against her smooth tanned skin. Her pulse beat in silence near her jawline, only slightly obscured by the dangle of her earring. He could practically turn his nose and burry his lips right into the spot with how close she was to him. And he wanted to. Oh how he wanted to… His heart rate doubled and his throat went dry. The notion caught him in a rare moment of indecision. What the hell was going on with him? She was just a woman in a pretty dress.

He stepped to the side out of her magnetic pull and cleared his throat. What did she just say to him? Oh yeah, 'what was the point…'

"Never saw the point myself," he said.

She crossed her arms and cocked her hip against the plywood of the workbench, oblivious to the filth she that marred her dress. "Tony says it is to run around like a drunken fool before you set resolutions you never intend to keep."

Gibbs chuckled. "Sounds like DiNozzo."

"McGee says it is to say goodbye to the old and welcome the new. Abby says it is to spend time with the people you care about."

"Some see it that way."

She was quiet for a moment and ran her hand along the beveled oak absently. "Is it really so important to be with the one you care about at the stroke of midnight?"

Her wistful tone sent a splinter into his chest. She was missing Ray. Gibbs gave a noiseless harrumph. 'CI-Ray'… He would never tell DiNozzo that he agreed with the assessment. But the moniker fit. She obviously saw something worthwhile in the man––otherwise, she wouldn't be so disappointed that he was gone. Who was Gibbs to begrudge her that?

"It's only important if you make it." He dumped out a mason jar and poured her a finger of bourbon.

She took the glass and swallowed it down in a gulp. She looked at the empty glass and a slow smile stole over her lovely pink lips. "Mmm. I have a better idea."

Without permission, she took his glass and hers and clicked her way over to the bottle of champagne. Her hips swayed against the silk of her dress. Gibbs must have already had too much to drink because the curve of her ass against the slinky black fabric stirred longings in him he worked hard to suppress when it came to his beautiful teammate. Every man with even one eye in her radius would find her attractive. At least that's what he tried to tell himself when his cock would threaten to stand at attention near her. But now he couldn't really control it and he wasn't sure he cared to even try. The smooth skin of her back and the exquisite line of her spine as it dipped into the low cut of her dress almost had him bending her over the worktable. Rule Twelve be damned. _Never date a coworker_. He had to have a rule for fucking one over a workbench.

She held up the bottle and began to peel the foil off the cork.

Gibbs drew his eyebrows together. Oh thank god. She wanted to drink champagne. That was like a cold shower. Down boy. "Champagne over bourbon? Ziver, we're in _my_ basement."

"I know." She untwisted the metal basket. "It's expensive champagne. If Ray does not have time to enjoy it with me, I will enjoy it without him. With another man."

Something possessive churned within Gibbs' gut. And it wasn't the first time he'd thought it either. Ray was an ass. The man was a complete idiot to walk away from her.

Her thumbs struggled with the cork and Gibbs found himself smiling as he walked over to take the bottle from her. Maybe a little champagne wouldn't kill him.

She arched a finely sculpted dark eyebrow at him. "I thought you were not interested in the champagne?"

His lips quirked into a grin. "I'm not. Just don't want to replace the window when you break it."

"I can shoot a man between the eyes from a hundred yards. I think I can manage a simple cork."

"Uh-huh."

The cork popped with a tight thwack and sailed across the basement. The sparkling wine bubbled out and spilled over the edge, onto his hands and splashed on the floor.

She let out squeal of delight and clapped her hands. "L'chaim!"

"L'chaim." Gibbs sucked up the rivulets of bubbly on his hands and let out a genuine laugh. Her joy was catching.

She took the bottle from him. Gibbs' heart stopped in his chest when her pink tongue slipped out and licked up the neck of the bottle and dipped in for a taste. Her eyes held his for a moment, twinkling with a devious glint. That look… it was seductive, challenging, sexual. There was no mistaking what she was doing. Gibbs cocked his head at her. His eyes narrowed. _Really?_

The tip of her tongue wet her bottom lip and she wiggled her eyebrows at him. _Yes, really._

The wind rushed out of Gibbs' lungs. Wow. There was very little that surprised him in this world. But this…this was a surprise. A very pleasant surprise. He couldn't help but stare in dumbfounded amazement.

Ziva held his gaze for a second more and then lowered her lashes before turning away. She poured a mason jar each and handed him one.

"Let us toast to the New Year." Her voice broke his trance.

He grunted. More because he still couldn't speak than any disagreement. She tipped her glass in the direction of the radio apparently taking his non-communication for generally idiocy.

"_Ten, nine, eight_…" The countdown had started.

"Ah." He nodded.

"_Seven, six, five_…"

"Is it not common practice to toast?"

"_Four, three…_"

"It is."

Her face glowed. "Here is to spending the end of the year with someone you care about."

"_Two… one_…"

Gibbs smiled. "And to new beginnings."

"_Happy New Year!_"

They clinked glasses and sipped as the familiar strains of _Auld Langsyne_ played amongst the raspy toots of horns and people cheering in the background.

Gibbs found himself mere inches from her––toe to toe, thigh to thigh, hips to hips. He had no idea how they had gotten so close, but it was nice. Exciting. More than intoxicating. "Happy New Year, Ziver."

Her breathy sigh brushed over his lips with the taste of champagne and honey. "Happy New Year, Gibbs."

The delicate shimmer of make-up over her cheeks sparkled in the dingy light of his basement and his breath once again caught in his throat. She had to be the most beautiful thing he had seen in a really, really long time.

Gibbs came to a decision then and there. Rules were made to be broken.

He took the glass from her fingers and placed both his and hers on the table behind her back. The movement took him further into her space––his arm brushed up against hers. She didn't move out of his proximity. Instead, her hands came up to rest on his chest. The light touch of her fingers against the cracked decal on his sweatshirt made his muscles twitch in anticipation.

She lifted her chin and parted her lips. It was an invitation. He knew it, she knew it. This was a line that once crossed would forever change how they saw each other. He would still be her superior, she his subordinate. Could they continue to work together in those rolls? Could he put her in the line of danger? Would she still accept his position of authority over her? Of course she would. She never asked anything of him. Even now, as desire clouded her fathomless dark eyes, her pride would not permit her to beg. He had to cross the line to meet her. They were his rules, _well-known within the team_, that they would be breaking.

Gibbs was never one to allow his baser desires to win over rationality. But this time he didn't want to be rational. Didn't want to hold himself back.

In the end, all it took was the subtle flex of her fingers against his shirt. He stopped the mental debate and the tight rein on his control snapped. He bent his head and pressed his lips against hers. Her sharp intake of breath when he touched his tongue to hers lasted only a second before her fingers raked into his hair at the back of his head. Her hips molded to his and his hands moved of their own volition. He touched the swell of her hips first and then slid his hands up her slim waist over the sleek, taut skin of her back. She purred deep in her throat and melted under his touch.

Ziva titled her head back, opening herself to him, free and uninhibited. His hands tightened around her and he took the kiss infinitely deeper. Their tongues mingled and slid against each other in a smooth rhythm. She tasted of sharp bourbon and sweet champagne all blended with something that was uniquely her. His head spun with desire and lust and the effects of the alcohol. But he couldn't blame his intoxication on the liquor. No, it was the fantastic woman in his arms.

Slowly, the kiss came to an end. They separated, lips clinging, breath rapid and shared. Gibbs opened his eyes and stared into her lovely face. A beautiful flush of color stained her cheeks, her lips bright red from his kisses. Her eyes were alight with fire and excitement.

"Well. That was not how I expected this evening to go." Her fingers scratched lightly against the short hair at the back of his head.

He smiled, unable to hold it back. "Me neither."

"That was…" She blew out a breathy sigh.

"Yeah."

"I do not regret it."

"Same."

"Good." The corner of her mouth lifted into a smirk. "I would hate to have to beat some sense into you."

Gibbs felt a cocky smile steal over his mouth. He didn't even bother to try and hide it. "I don't know, you think you could take me?"

"You could take that to the vault."

"Bank. You could take it to the _bank_."

She groaned in frustration. Gibbs smiled. Personally, he thought her idiomatic inversions were adorable.

She slid her hands around to rest on his shoulders. She smoothed the seams of his sweatshirt and frowned. "I should go."

Gibbs shook his head. "Not tonight."

"What do you mean?"

"You're not going anywhere." He reached over and flicked off the radio. The game was over and he had no idea who won. Frankly right now, he didn't really care. He took her hand and led her up the stairs. With a flick of the wrist, he set the lock on the front door. No more unwanted visitors. Especially not tonight.

He led her upstairs. She followed him willingly. At the threshold of his room, she tugged on his hand and pulled him into another mind searing kiss. He almost lost all of his faculties, all sense of propriety, and pinned her up against the wall right there. But that was not how he wanted it to go down. And he cursed himself for what he was about to do.

Breaking the kiss, he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers for a second before he led her into the room. He directed her to the edge of the bed where she sat and looked at him with those seductive, imploring eyes. He smiled, crossed to his dresser and took out a t-shirt and pair of pajama bottoms.

"What is this?" she asked when he placed them on the coverlet next to her.

"Something to sleep in."

Her face fell and she shielded her eyes with the dark fringe of her lashes. "I see."

He stepped to her and cupped his hand around the back of her head to tip her chin up with his thumb. "When we do this, it won't be because we had too much to drink."

"It is not…"

He silenced her with a finger to her lips. The looked of exasperation that crossed her face made him smile. He bent his head low and kissed her quick and efficiently to let her know he was most certainly still interested. When he straightened, she gave him a frown of acquiescence. "It is very annoying when you are always right."

He shrugged and left the room, closing the door behind him. In the hallway, he paused and took a deep breath. The devil on his shoulder taunted him to go back in there and finish what they started, but his conscience urged him to place one foot in front of the other down the stairs. They could tackle this in the morning with clear heads. Even if it meant that they would walk away as if nothing ever happened.

* * *

_To Be Continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

The smell of coffee drew Ziva from a deep sleep. She opened her eyes to the bright light streaming through the windows and rolled flat on her back. The sense of frustration, both emotional and sexual, refilled her body with tension. She was in Gibbs' house, in his bedroom. In his bed. She blurted out an incredulous laugh at that thought. Never in her life would she have imagined that she'd be there. Let alone that he would put her there. After a soul wrenching, toe curling, hotter than anything she'd had in a very long time kiss. Was the man made of complete will power? No one, _and she meant no one_, had ever turned her down. Not like that, out of some sense of gentlemanly concern or obligation. That was indeed a first. And something about that made a little smile steal over her lips. She gently ran the back of her knuckles against her lips remembering his kisses. She should be offended, but this was Gibbs, and he meant more to her than she was even prepared to admit to herself.

She got out of bed and padded into the bathroom. After taking care of business and washing the sleep worn makeup from her face, she went downstairs, following the scent of coffee into his Spartan kitchen. The entire house was just a shell. She'd been there before, seen it in the light of day, but somehow this morning it tore at her heart just how empty it was. How the hollowness represented the hole that would never be filled in his heart. The symbolic reminder of the family he once had and lost.

Part of her wanted to go back upstairs, put her clothes back on and go home to pretend that she did not remember anything that occurred last night. He did not need the complication of her in his personal life. And she did not need the heartache of never being enough. It would be just another reminder of her entire existence. The woman who was always used as a tool, someone who did not have feelings––_the sharp tip of the spear_. But something kept her feet going, drawing her into the space.

He leaned against the counter, freshly showered, shaved and dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of worn jeans. His clear blue eyes watched her from over the edge of his coffee mug. They were guarded and unreadable as usual. And yet again she had the urge to run.

"Coffee?"

She nodded. "Please."

He took a stray mug out of the cabinet and poured her a cup. "Milk in the fridge."

She waved off his offer and took a seat at the old kitchen table. Neither of them spoke for a while. The awkward silence unnerved her. She could not bring herself to say anything and she knew he would never broach the topic. He was not a talker. Anyone who knew him knew that.

She sipped that last of her coffee. She rose and placed the mug in the sink. "I will get my things and go."

"Is that what you want?"

Her confidence flared, or maybe it was her stubborn nature, but she raised her chin at him and pinned him with a stare that would make Tony shrivel. "I could ask the same of you."

Surprisingly, he hung his head self-consciously and cleared his throat. "No, not what I want."

Ziva's eyes widened and her heart constricted in her chest. Could he possibly?

He looked at her after a moment and cocked his head with that half self-deprecating grin of his. "I'm not good with words."

"I know."

"After Jenny, I made that rule."

"I am not her."

"No, you're nothing like her." He tilted his head as if he was debating within himself all of the words he wouldn't say. "It still makes sense."

"Maybe." She crossed her arms and looked at him. "In Mossad, we often have liaisons with fellow agents. It is commonplace. The things we do, the life we live. There are shared experiences. Things that we cannot bring home with us. It makes sense to find an… outlet in those you work closely with."

"That's not just what this would be and you know it."

"What if I want to take that chance?"

"What about Ray?"

"Ray is a bookmark."

His eyebrows drew together, confused.

She must have said it wrong. "A distraction. A warm body, someone who makes me…" She was almost ashamed to admit it. "… feel like a woman."

"Why me?"

"Honestly, I do not know." She smiled at that. "In case you have not noticed, you are an extremely attractive man."

He chuckled, as if he was not sure of her assessment. "I'm not easy to get a long with."

"I think we handle each other just fine."

"I have a horrible track record with women."

"I do not need you to marry me."

His tone was still light but then he quieted. "I don't know if I can give you more than that."

"If you are trying to convince me to abandon this idea, you are doing a pretty good job of it."

"You need to know."

"I have known who you are before I even met you. You do not scare me Gibbs."

"You can't fix me."

"Are we not all a little broken?"

"Ziver…" It was a plea. He wanted her to go, wanted her to not take the chance. But she refused.

He let out a sigh and pulled her into the circle of his arms. "One last chance to walk away."

Ziva flattened her hands against his chest. The heat from his skin warmed her palms through the thin blue cotton. "I will never walk away from you again." She was referring to when she turned her back on him and their team in Israel. The look on his face when she did had broken what was left of her heart. It was one of the hardest things she'd ever done. And one of her biggest mistakes. The softening of his eyes told her that he knew exactly what she meant. It was an apology and a promise all the same.

She brushed her lips against his. His arms circled around her back and drew her close against his chest. He kissed her slowly, deeply. His tongue worked magic inside of her mouth and the small feral growl of possession rumbled in his chest. The kiss was full of passion and the intensity of a taboo, yet he still held a portion of himself back. Ziva knew she would never have all of him. That part of him would always belong to the woman who was his first love. Ziva was ok with that if it meant that she could have the rest.

His lips broke away from her and he dragged a trail of kisses along the sensitive skin of her neck. Shivers of electricity raced all the way to her toes. She threw her head back in ecstasy and clawed her way closer to him. The way his mouth felt on her skin, she never wanted him to stop. Passion and desire soon clouded her vision and all she could hear was her pulse in her ears and the shared sighs that filled the air between them.

He pulled back and looked into her eyes. His own were a stormy blue and it gave her chills the way his desire for her was so readable. She smiled at him to reassure him that this was exactly what she wanted. His lips tugged into a predatory grin.

Without a second thought, he placed his hands on her ass and hitched her up around his hips. He kissed her as he carried her effortlessly up the stairs and back into his bedroom where he so frustratingly, albeit gallantly, left her last night. But there was nothing gallant about the way he touched her now. The ridge of his erection rubbed against the thin barrier of cotton at the apex of her thighs. The sensation teased her and drove her to yank at the hem of his shirt so she could drag it over his head. It caught under his arms. He placed a swift kiss on her lips before he threw her down onto the mattress. She gasped at the shock of bouncing off the cool sheets. She laughed and watched him remove the offending shirt over his head to reveal a honed chest dusted in silver hair. Excitement and desire made her pulse race. He was still so very sexy.

His strong hand clasped around her ankle and he pulled her close enough to thrust his hands into his pajama pants on her hips. His calloused palms scrapped deliciously down her legs as he removed her pants until she was spread bare in front of him. Ziva let out another eager gasp, both surprised and turned on by the way he manhandled her. It was both playful and sexy at the same time. Well, two could play at that game.

She reached out and grabbed a fistful of the waistband of his jeans. In a flash, she had his button undone and his zipper down. She reached inside the edge of the elastic and ran her palm down the full length of him before she took him in hand. He let out a growl that rivaled a caged lion. He shed his pants and crawled on top of her. The kiss was hungry this time, every ounce of his being electrified her and if she did not have him right then and there, she thought she might die.

With the pure strength of her legs, she flipped him over and straddled him. She crossed her arms in front of her and pulled his baggy t-shirt over her head. The appreciative look as his eyes fell on her body made her feel like a goddess. His hands traced her sides, up and over her ribs to cup both of her breasts. Work-roughened pads of his thumbs brushed over the sensitive tips of her breasts, sending shockwaves of desire through her. She arched against him, trapping the ridge of his desire between their bodies. His fingers rolled the nubs between them and she bit her bottom lip, grinding her hips into his.

She leaned forward and placed tiny kisses along his chest, crawling and skimming the length of his body like a cat. She worked her way back up, drawing a hot slick pattern along his skin with her tongue. His skin trembled with the light touch. When she reached the hollow of his throat, his hands plunged into the length of her hair at the back of her head and he gently pulled her back up to his mouth. His kiss was slow, sensual, deep.

Ready for him, more aroused than she could possible imagine, she took the length of him all the way to the hilt. His eyes rolled back in his head and his hips thrust his shaft deeper into her. They both let out a gasp upon their connection. It was a release of shared desire and tension. When he opened his eyes, he stared into her face. His hand came up to caress her cheek and reverently skim down her neck to the valley over her heart.

He just looked at her for a long moment, frozen in time. Ziva felt the connection between them transform and expand into something so much stronger than either of them expected.

Carefully, he rolled her underneath him and showered her with kisses. Her eyes, her cheeks, her nose, her lips. The intensity morphed into a tenderness that Ziva never felt before and they were all of a sudden no longer just having sex, they were making love.

He began to move. Slowly, deliberately. Her legs shook with need when she wrapped them around his waist, but she wanted him closer, deeper. If they could have become one, even more than they were now, her heart would surely have burst.

His rhythm sped up. Erotic sensations driving them to a primal dance. He felt so good inside of her, their coupling slick and hungry. Soon the tension built, rose above her and crashed into her like a tidal wave. His thrusts pushed her over the edge and she exploded into a million tiny white-hot pieces. She might have called out his name, she couldn't be sure. His own groan against her neck as his orgasm hit drowned out any thought in her mind.

They lay there boneless and panting, clinging to each other as they rode out the last waves of ecstasy. His weight on her both reassuring and welcome. He looked into her face, a tiny smile on his lips. He pecked a chaste kiss against her chin, her nose and her forehead. There was a tenderness in his eyes that she knew he possessed but never showed the world. She ran her knuckles against the side of his temple in a loving gesture to reflect the feelings in her heart. He didn't have to say anything. She could see it all in his eyes. He cared about her. More than he wanted to.

He rolled over to his back and tucked her against his side. Ziva snuggled in to the space and allowed him to cover their bodies with the sheet. His heartbeat was still strong in her ear and she could hear him swallow the lump of pride or regret in his throat. A wave of doubt and self-recrimination came over her. She was about to pull away when he tightened his arms around her and tipped her chin up to give her another sensual kiss.

"For the record, this was not at all what I expected when you showed up in the basement last night."

She blurted out a laugh that sort of came out like a sob of relief and buried her face against his neck. "For the record, this was not what I intended. At all."

He chuckled along with her and hugged her tightly. "Kinda nice though."

Ziva propped herself up on her elbow. "Just kinda?"

He laughed. His pure open joy warmed her heart to a simple easy glow. He was teasing her. "Really. Really nice."

She bit the corner of her lip. It was a nervous gesture, one that her _safta_ always chided her for as a girl. "So, we are still ok?"

"Oh, I'd say we're more than ok." His hand caressed her shoulder and brushed down her arm. He paused for a moment and his face grew serious. "Ask it."

"Ask what?" She shook her head, confused.

"That question burning a hole right between your eyes." He ran his forefinger in the space between her eyebrows.

"I do not know what you mean."

"The '_where do we go from here' _question," he filled in.

"Oh." She cast her eyes down, ashamed that she was so transparent to him. She never wanted to be the needy woman who sought constant reassurance––she tried to not be anyway. She supposed she failed.

"Truth is, I don't know."

"Can I be truthful?"

He glanced down at their intertwined naked bodies and quirked his eyebrows. "Yeah?"

"I have cared for you for a long time. First it was a bit of awe, then it was in hope of approval from you, acceptance. But after Somalia, everything with Michael and my father––you, Tony, McGee have become my home. The place where I belong. And that is all well and good, but at the end of the day, I want more. I need…more."

He shifted and pulled back. "I told you, I don't know if I can give you that."

"No, no, you misunderstand me." She sighed and tried to get her thoughts in order. "What I'm saying is that you and I have had this… _thing,_ for lack of a better word, between us. I don't know what to call it. It is _nefesh te'oma_ in Hebrew. It means 'twin souls'."

"Soul mates."

"I suppose. You once questioned whether I killed Ari to gain your trust but even then, I knew, you were more than a mission to me. I knew that your life and mine were supposed to cross in a profound way. Were we destined to end up here, like this? I do not know. But what I do know is that I want to try."

"You are home. And this is where you belong. Right here, with me." His fingers brushed her hair away from her face and she pressed her cheek against his palm.

That was as much of a declaration as she could ever hope to get from him. Everything he did not say rang loud and clear in the tone of his voice and behind the crystal blue of his eyes. He wanted her exactly where she was, in his bed, with him. Where that took them, as long as she was by his side, it did not matter. Logistics and rules and needless worries fell to the wayside. They would face it together. Some how, some way. This would be a New Year indeed, full of new beginnings. And that was all she needed to know.

The End


End file.
